


Time Never Stops Ticking

by Moonlit_Streets



Category: Lego Ninjago
Genre: Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlit_Streets/pseuds/Moonlit_Streets
Summary: Time…Time may be considered more of a social construct than a propeller for life. After all, the minutes and hours on the face of a clock are simply nothing more than someone’s tedious, unstopping invention.Some people think that time was created to control the unruly masses, to give life more purpose-to steer their lives...but I know different. Time wasn’t invented, or even made to manipulate lives at all. Time has always moved on. It has corrupted people, caused them severe fear and even driven them to commit the greatest evils and atrocities.But at the end of it all, everyone will eventually run out of time. But time…Time. Never. Stops. Ticking.A series of the life of a young elemental master, known as Katrina Saunders. Her life was simple enough-a quiet existence in an awesome museum with thousands of years of history at her fingertips. Everything was fine until the clocks stopped.
Kudos: 8





	1. Paper Cuts Don't Just Disappear

Probably just one of those late-ish nights. Almost 11 was definitely late in her book, right? Katrina Saunders looked around her room with an expression of annoyance and frustration on her face.  
At least seven clocks lay on the walls and around five alarm clocks on various desks and bookshelves. The collection wasn’t exactly intentional, either, although definitely excessive and unnatural. Clockwork and various time pieces constantly managed to find the Saunders household, no matter how many times the small family refused them with a polite ‘no thanks’, ‘please no’ and then finally ‘please for the love of everything. No,’. Clocks still traded into their hands. Like an unstoppable attraction. Like the clocks found them. 

Ticking didn't aid her concentration at all. Studying was most certainly plagued by a constant annoying tick and (shortly after) a tock. Wherever you went in this home, the impending doom of ticking would always follow you. There was no stopping the clocks. Ninjago history and a greater understanding of it would have to wait until Katrina could calm herself down. Kat lived with her father above the Ninjago museum, so it seemed appropriate that her studies were history-based (especially when the material she needed for it was right below her). Her thirst for knowledge only furthered her desperation for history sources. But tonight, her concentration was slipping. Dramatically. 

The clock's hands wouldn't stop moving. Ever. There was a constant cycle of life that always kept on flowing, pushing some people on and holding back others. Well, that's what her father always said. Whenever the conversation of time ever came up, her father became distant, always thinking of the past…or was it the future he was looking for? Either way, Kat noticed the behaviour now she was older-about fifteen, nearing sixteen, to be precise. It wasn't just her father being weird about it all. It was her as well. Day by day, time seemed to go by differently. Some days the hands would move quicker than she expected, others much slower. Worst of all, the clocks seemed to get louder and louder and louder and louder and louder! 

Until they were too loud. 

With a swift reflex, Kat sent her books spinning off the old wood-mahogany, possibly-desk; a display of complete rage and fury.  
"Stop!" She squalled-her high-pitched voice pricking. "Why can't I get any work done-"

Across her palm, which she'd just used to discard the books, lay a detailed slit. A crimson slice of pain rested in her palm. Instinctively, she cried, "ow!"  
Pinching together her eyes, she felt the icy, metallic blood flow on her fingers. Despite the fact that the wound was scarce, the blood was much. Naturally, a paper cut wouldn't do such a thing-too much liquid, not enough wound. 

"Are you alright?" Her father entered the room, his usual smile not currently where it belonged. 

Sander Saunders was not an especially tall man-his greying hair and older-aged features accentuated his dark green eyes. His wardrobe consisted of too much dark green, the occasional maroon and not enough of any other colour. Notably, he was always neat and tidy-he was not often seen without a shirt and tie or bow. But owning and curating a museum required a certain etiquette and he ensured to teach his daughter that. 

The injured now smiled lightly with a nod, verdant eyes studying the palm, obscured from her father’s eyes. “Y-yeah, I just cut my hand. Kinda stings,"

"On the books?” A reassuring smile powered through and tut of the tongue came. “Again?”

A small nod, but with the introduction of a shiver. Something got cold all of a sudden. Wait not something…everything.

"I've done that many times. Let me see," he smiled at his daughter, taking her hand gently. There was concern in his dark eyes…and something else, a little more odd. 

A wave of green energy washed over...everything. Like a smoke bomb almost, but with something more sinister attached. Something more magical. Terrified, Kat bit her lip tightly and scrunched up her green eyes, desperately trying to block out the feeling.  
The feeling of...power.  
The freezing suddenly captured all the room that surrounded her, keeping her still in her position. Odd as it was, the blood seemed to disperse-her fingers no longer had the stained red, nor the wet. The clocks rested back to where they were a few minutes prior. If they had been unhappy prior to whatever this was, now they were furious. Kat thought they'd been loud before. Now they were silent. Scarily silent. 

"Katrina…there's nothing here," came a near-silent whisper. 

"I…I swear there was something!" She let go of her lip, total panic in her voice. "Did you not just feel that...that energy? It was-was-"

"Hm? What?" Her father looked up at the clock, acknowledging it's time. Ignoring her. Ignoring his daughter? His gaze floated back eventually. "You should probably get some rest, sweetheart," 

Kat trudged over to her bed uneasily, plagued with both uncertainty and fatigue. She, already in her pj's, gently got into her bed as her father walked over to her. 

"Good night…sleep well," his lips touched her forehead. 

She frowned however re-spiking the argument, "you think I'm lying…? My hand it-it WAS bleeding. I wouldn't lie to you I swear-" Unquestionable loyalty. Odd. 

Shaking his head, he sighed. "No…no, you're probably just tired. Goodnight sweetheart,"

Turning off the light, Katrina was given the darkness to hold onto. Sander faintly left the room with a sad sigh and shake of his head. Quietly, he made his way out of the small apartment. Stepping into the closed museum, armed with a flashlight, he made his way to a door. Entering in silence, he looked around suspiciously. A laboratory-esque space awaited him, full of ungodly marvels-one being a large, reptilian tank, currently empty. In addition, advanced, yet simplistic technologies lay. Sander glanced towards an old, old set of armour, gathering dust in the corner. He reached out his hand, gently touching the dual hands of the clock, emblazoned on the armour. 

"Perhaps it is time I tell her who she truly is,"


	2. It All Stopped

Bright sunshine fled into the clock-filled room and filled it with its morning light. Bright, sun-like butter…

Considering the weather, Katrina should have been in a good mood. But just like those few days ago, she couldn't keep a straight focus. She racked her mind as she swung on her desk chair, kicking her legs idly. She was young of course, though maturity was a strong suit. Yet she regularly got bored, especially when reading over the same material as usual. Too determined, and almost petty, to finish the book; not intelligent enough to realise her stagnant mind and increasing distraction. 

Once again, the fall of focus was attributed and blamed towards one culprit. The clocks. 

Menacing beats (like an ancient drum, warning for war) kept on striking through the room and through the youth's head. Since the paper cut incident, she swore they'd become louder. Her consistent irritation must have been caused by something for the past few days...she just couldn't place it yet. 

"The clocks? It's the clocks! They never stop. That constant ticking and ticking has finally driven me up the wall! I knew it would happen eventually," rapid words which all made little sense were spouted. 

Her head and heart aching and pounding identically, she paced downstairs, going down into the museum, her insufferable pace almost causing her to trip and fall. 

Sliding to a stop, I gazed around with wide eyes and a furrowed brow; I was on the second floor now, out of the four. Me and father lived on the top, away from the artefacts (for the obvious reasons). Many tourists stood, peering at ancient models, thrones, armour and other various historic items. History was very much alive here. 

My chest began heaving. I'd never had problems with asthma, but I imagine this would be what an asthma attack felt like…

I clawed onto the banister and screwed up my eyes-everything hurt, everything burnt and everything wobbled and everything became unusual. My entire body shook with such a viscous force. 

"Kat? Katrina?!" I heard a voice scream. 

The pain subsided as swiftly as it came. But, when I opened my eyes, my breath was taken away. 

Everything had stopped. 

Visitors of the museum just stood around: frozen in the last position they were in. Families caught in mid conversation; school kids jotting down info on artefacts and teens somewhat marvelling at the giant serpentine head (that always made me shudder). I glared at the menacing clock and it too was under my mysterious power. 

I gawped! What the hell had I done?! S-stopped time? That isn't possible!

I stumbled weakly against the wall, as I'd now journeyed away from the stairs, glaring at what I'd done to these poor, innocent bystanders. My arm outstretched, I peered at my surroundings again. 

"Kat! Katrina!" That cry sounded yet again and I looked straight at my father-and his hurt expression. 

Liquid filled my eyes as I charged at him, "Dad! What have I done?" I bawled into his warm arms. 

"You have done nothing wrong…it is my fault this time," he stroked my dark hair, calming me. 

Clutching onto him for support, I managed- "H-How? What have I done?"

"What have you done?" He sniffled, clearly knowing exactly what events had just occurred. He looked me dead in the eyes-"You've paused time,"

He stepped back, took my hands in his and closed his eyes. Time finally began to move again. 

My mouth was gawped as I stared at him. How did he know what was going on? How did he know how to stop it? What was he clearly not telling me?!

"Katrina…we need to talk…" slowly, he took me up to my room, where my life would change forever…


End file.
